


Against the Dying of the Light

by Catheryne



Series: Against the Dying of the Light [1]
Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-27 02:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catheryne/pseuds/Catheryne
Summary: Post 2.13He came to her bedroom for comfort, because he knew if there was one place where he would not question the love, it was within her embrace.





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

It was exhaustion to near insanity.

Chuck Bass grieved the way Chuck Bass, in theory, would love. It was the one that went over and over in her mind like a chant as she held him, and he clutched painfully at her arm. When he slept beside her, she watched him breathing, counted how many times his body rose and fall. In his sleep, he rested, and she hoped his heart healed from the loss of the one man he allowed to rule many of his decisions over his whole life.

One day, she was sure, she would marry him.

With Nate, with Marcus, she had hoped and planned for a future, made sure that the cards would fall in the right place and she could build a life for her in their worlds. From being a long-suffering, amenable girlfriend to a boy who never really seemed to love her enough, to being a sophisticated lady in the making to a man who seemed perfect in every perceptible way.

With Chuck, it had been effortless. She could run and he would chase her. And when he ran, she found herself chasing.

One day, she would marry this boy.

One day he would no longer be destroyed the way he was now, and they would come together. No trying, no crying, they would fall into place like the king and queen in a deck of cards.

The certainty allowed her to sleep.

Someday she would marry Chuck Bass, and that was the oddest certainty she ever had in her life.

Yale, grad school, a business, Chuck Bass. Someday it would be the two of them and they would travel the world. They could not walk into a movie house holding hands, but maybe one day they could stroll down Champs-Élysées with his arm around her waist. It would be closer to his style, and it was so natural to imagine.

She found herself placing a kiss at the back of his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered as he slept. Once the first time was over, it had been so easy to repeat it over and over, but she held the statement close. Blair pressed her cheek against his back and sighed, allowing her body to sink into the pillows.

"I can't," came his soft, unexpected voice. She had not thought he was awake. The words sent a shiver down her back. He turned to his back, and she sat up to look down at his ravaged face. He reached for her, and she sighed when he wrapped her in his embrace. She laid her hand on his chest and kissed the bare skin above his heart. "I love you," she said again.

Tonight, she was brave. According to Nate, she was maternal. According to Cyrus, she was patient.

To her, she was honest.

"Chuck and Blair," he said faintly. He reached for her cheek, and drew her down for a kiss. "Blair and Chuck."

Blair smiled upon hearing it. As much emotional stress he had suffered that night, Blair too was spent with the demand of staying, of being, of all that she had tried to be just to keep him from folding. The moment her head rested against his chest, she was asleep.

The sleep was not nearly sufficient enough when she felt herself wake. Blair's heart jumped to her throat when she felt a weight rest heavily on top of her. Her eyes opened and she saw him, his hair in disarray, his eyes dark and just a little bit mad, looming over her. He was positioned above her, between her legs as his arms hooked at the backs of her knees, spreading her open. She held her breath as his demanding lips pressed fervent short kisses, almost violent ones, on her chin. He pressed up against her, and she felt him push her panties to the side.

"Chuck?" she whispered. Without warning, he thrust inside. Blair swallowed deeply and willed the tears that rose to her eyes to disappear. He was not going to see them, not now. She waited for her body to adjust to the intrusion. She was still dry and he lunged firmly instead. Blair cried out at the small pain, but held onto him, tightened her thighs around his hips as he pumped into her. There was no steady motion, and she could not even predict his next push inside her. It was erratic, completely devoid of the finesse that he had already shown her he had. Blair blinked back the tears and cursed herself for crying so easily. His face buried in the crook of her neck as she bit into the skin of her shoulder.

"One more time," he begged, and he surged inside her. Blair gasped. "Please, Blair. One more time."

"What, Chuck?" Whatever he wanted, she would do. Whatever he asked for, she would give. Each motion hurt, and it created such exquisite pain that she pushed his head off her shoulder and raised it to meet his eyes. "Tell me."

Chuck's movements grew faster and faster, as her thighs started to scream. "Tell me. Again."

"I—love—you," she uttered, with each jarring thrust.

Deeper, he thrust. Sweat rolled down his forehead, down the side of his face, then dripped onto the hollow of her throat.

"Chuck," she pleaded, so close, her body hurting for release.

"Again," he demanded, stopping halfway inside her channel.

Blair arched up. It hurt and she savored it so so much.

"I love you," she said in a rush. Above her, he stiffened, and his head fell against her forehead as he sucked in his breath and poured himself inside her. His fluid filled her, and he pumped once more, twice, thrice, as he expended himself. Her eyes shut tightly and she could not help the tears dripping from the corners of his eyes. He raised himself from her body. Blair lay empty, and her legs were slightly open still when he collapsed beside her in the bed.

He slept, and she wondered if tomorrow he would remember. Her underwear back in place, and the skirt of her dress pushed back over her thighs, it almost seemed like nothing happened. She placed a kiss on his sweaty forehead and returned to her place pressed behind him, the only evidence of the extreme need he sought her to fill was the harsh breathing, and the throbbing pain between her legs.

Blair's eyes fluttered shut.

In the morning, she would find the letter that fantastically failed in its attempt to explain his absence. The sheet of paper flew down to the bed, and she ran to the bathroom. She sniffled as she took off her clothes and washed herself of him.

He was gone, and he did not want her to come looking.

Once, she thought she would marry that boy, and it would have been effortless. Blair reached for a bathrobe and covered herself, then padded barefoot back into her bed.

Someday he would come back.

Please.

Anything if he would come back.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 1

Bangkok was half a world away and a billion miles apart from home. Where New York bustled with people who strode quickly on no nonsense legs to a destination, Bangkok's crowded streets were populated by busy folk who bothered to reach out and wave her over. They peddled their wares like there was no tomorrow. Under the street lamps, their own little fluorescent tubes glowed, and Blair almost broke her steady pace to touch a golden trinket that she would never really use.

She had never been, but even if she did, Blair Waldorf doubted she would find herself in the same area. Soi 8 in Sukhumvit, situated just by the under the sky train, was far from any of the large hotels that her agent would have booked for her. Her mother would faint if she knew that her only child now walked in brown Prada through the cemented sidewalks that earlier in the day, a baby elephant had passed by.

Blair stopped in front of a small travel agency that had, taped to its glass windows, various pictures of Westerners in their hot spots. She wondered if these people knew back home that their likenesses were now used as free advertisement by the small company.

When the proprietor spied her, the short man stood and beamed, bowed and bowed until Blair bowed herself.

"Ayuthaya!" the man exclaimed.

Blair smiled, "What? I'm sorry, sir. English please."

The man shook his head, then waved his hand. He took a thick binder from the back of his desk and rifled through the laminated pages. He stopped at a page of wide open skies and ancient ruins. The man tapped his finger on the page. "Ayuthaya! Grand kingdom. You will like. What time we pick you up in hotel?"

"Oh!" Blair shook her head as she understood. "No. I am looking for this." She showed the man the picture that she had been carrying for four days, through the arrangements for her flight, through the horrors of finding out that she should have used another airport which was closer to her destination. It was a photograph of Chuck standing in front of what seemed like a two-star motel inn. Behind him, the name was lit. B ST CITY H TEL. It was so uncharacteristic of Bass to choose to stay in that, but then again, if in hiding, one had to be unpredictable. For that she applauded him. Even out of his mind with grief, Chuck Bass managed to put one over her. She had made Dorota call every five star hotel in Bangkok until she deemed them desperate enough to try the four-stars. "Best City Hotel?"

Apparently, the man understood enough English to determine that she was not going to book a tour. The man's brows furrowed in his displeasure. "Next street," he said, waving her away.

Blair managed to thank the man even with the attitude change. She stepped back out into the dark night and took a deep breath. Even so late, the city was alive and the air was warm. The sidewalks lined now even more with vendors deep frying foods she could not recognize. Blair watched appalled when one woman poured a jar of little creatures still jumping and alive into boiling oil. From a narrow alley, one man pushed a lighted cart on which hung several dozen colorful blouses. Written on a piece of cardboard tacked at the top of his products was the number 80.

Not even two dollars each. Blair recognized some of them in the small boutiques in the states. Sewing the brand name tag probably cost 348 dollars then, because a particular yellow jacket caught her eye in Manhattan carrying a price tag of 350. Blair hurried walking and turned at the next street corner.

There it was, in its broken lights. A four storey building proclaimed. It was the B ST CITY H TEL. She gave a lopsided smile. She swore she was going to hail a cab to make her way back to her own hotel in Sathorn, which was more her style. She started walking when she heard the loud noise of whirring motor directly behind her. Blair moved to the side of the street, but the motor sounded louder. She turned her head to glare at the man who was driving the motorbike.

"Tuktuk!"

Her eyes widened until she remembered what it said in the airline magazine she had rifled through on the way over. Blair said, "Best City." The driver nodded, and Blair climbed up in the passenger seat.

When she entered the Best City Hotel, there was no one in the reception area. Blair frowned, then spotted the bell. She hit it with a ding. Four seconds later, when no one came, she hit it again. Then one more time for good measure.

"Right here, madame."

Blair turned haughtily around and saw the woman walking towards her. The woman wore a uniform, with Beth on her nameplate. "Beth!" Blair said. "Great."

"Grateful I'm Canadian, right? Yeah," Beth murmured, "never understood why Westerners don't bother learning the language before they come. I have an open room with a twin bed," Alicia offered. Her eyes flitted to Blair's shoes up to her perfectly styled hair. "Unless you're expecting someone."

Blair's lips pursed. She was obviously meant to work for two-star hotels. "I'm not booking a room," she said sweetly. "I'm looking for someone."

Beth's eyebrows arched. "Honey, if you're meeting here, you're booking here. This isn't a pickup point."

Blair gritted her teeth, then placed the picture on the desk. "Have you seen this guy around?"

Beth glanced at the picture, then grinned. "That's Chuck Bass!" She crowed in delight. "He kept insisting no one was coming for him, you know? But I always thought that'd be impossible."

Blair's heart skipped. "Where is he?"

Bath nodded towards the makeshift hotel lobby that appeared almost like the common room in a college dormitory. Blair turned around. Her throat closed when she spied the brown head behind the back of the couch. A game show played on the television, and she was sure he didn't understand a word of it. Blair slowly made her way to him, then rounded the couch until she stood to the side.

There were dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks were a little hollow, and his hair was as much of a mess as it was before he had gone missing. He had not bathed in heaven knows how long. "Chuck," she called softly.

There was no reaction from him. He kept his eyes trained on the tv.

Blair stepped forward. "Chuck," she repeated.

And then, finally, his eyes flickered to her. His gaze ran hotly from her head to her toes. She shivered despite the humidity that gave her a thin sheen of sweat. Then, his face contorted. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in a softly menacing voice. "I told you not to come looking for me."

She gave him a small smile, to show him it was fine. She sat beside him then reached for his hand. He snatched it away, along with the bottle he gripped like a lifeline. "It's been a month, Chuck," she reminded him.

He brought the bottle to his lips and downed a mouthful. "So what? Don't tell me you tracked me down to tell me you're pregnant?"

Her back stiffened at the onslaught. She bit her lip. "I'm going to let that pass."

"Please don't," he replied with sarcasm.

Blair stood up and clutched her bag to her front. "You're obviously not ready to talk. That's fine." Blair turned her back on him and started to walk away. She paused when she reached the doorway. "I'll come back tomorrow. I hope you're sober then."

Blair continued on her way and stepped out of the motel doors. The street was empty now, despite all the lights. The throng of people, she knew, was at the end of this street along the main soi by the train. She barely made it five steps when she felt herself pulled swiftly back. She almost screamed, because she knew all the horror stories. She had no intention of falling into white slavery when all she needed was to get him and go.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed down at her.

Blair pulled her arm away, but he gripped tightly—almost as tightly as he had gripped the neck of his whiskey bottle. "I'm going back to my hotel," she informed him. "I didn't scrimp on my accommodations, Bass."

He relaxed his stance, but did not let go of her arm. "You are not walking alone in Sukhumvit in that."

She narrowed her eyes. "I look perfectly fine."

"You look like a victim," he said in a cruel and deliberate manner.

If she did, he was the cause, she thought. He was the reason for Bangkok, the reason she walked along unpleasant streets, smelled odors that made her want to retch, made her land in the north when she should have bought a ticket to Suvarnabhumi airport. But his wild eyes and unkempt hair, and memories of him clutching her arm as he cried, kept her own accusations at bay.

"I'm sorry if my appearance is unacceptable to you," she gritted out.

He leaned close, bent down, and her lips parted in anticipation. Instead of a kiss, he gave her harsh words. "Go home, Waldorf," he advised. "There's nothing for you here."

"I'm here because of you!" she protested.

Chuck released her arm. "Do we have to get it tattooed on the back of your hand?" he asked. "You're not my girlfriend. I don't need you here."

"Go ahead," she said calmly. She had learned from Cyrus, and she was prepared for this. Blair never thought it would be easy anyway. "Do your worst." Had it only been two months before that he challenged her and told her it was her turn to chase after him? They had both thought that ended on a Brooklyn rooftop. But this, here in Bangkok, or on the streets of Manhattan while she declared her love and heard nothing in return—this was the real chase. "You can't make me give up."

"That's too bad," he said softly.

Chuck turned his back on her and proceeded back to his pathetic hellhole of a motel. Blair turned away and started walking to the busy street, where she hoped she could get a cab.

"What are you waiting for?" he barked at her.

And she could not help but bite back, just a little. It didn't change the fact that she loved him though. "I'm looking for a cab, moron."

"I'm getting you a room," he said.

"Don't bother," she snapped.

Blair's breath caught in her throat when he turned to her with a stormy expression. He stalked towards her and grabbed her wrist, then pulled her along towards the reception area. "Give her a room," he told Beth.

"I don't want a room. If you can just call me a cab," she told the receptionist.

Beth smiled at Blair, then slid a key to Chuck. "Two choices. One gets another room occupied," she said to Blair by way of apology. In Blair's head, the motel just dropped to one star.

They rode the rickety elevator on the way up, and Blair involuntarily laid her hand on Chuck's arm to calm her nerves from the unpredictable stop and go. She looked up at him, and saw his eyes had fallen to her hand against his bare skin. "Blair, you shouldn't have come."

She turned her face away, then held out her hand for her key. It was a level above his, and she was at least grateful that she did not need to share his room. The last time they slept in one bed—

She shook her head free of the memory.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal two Thai girls waiting with accommodating smiles. Chuck greeted them by name, then stepped out of the elevator. Blair watched, and could not hide the hurt in her eyes. His whisper was soft, and she thought he almost sounded guilty. "I told you not to come looking."

Blair held the door open and her chin up as Chuck wrapped his arms around the girls' waists. She made herself watch, and made sure he knew she watched, as he opened the door to his room and led the girls inside.

She flinched when she heard his door slam shut. Blair released the open button and allowed the elevator doors to close. When it opened to her floor, she did not step out. Instead, she pressed the button to the main lobby. She passed by the reception area and found it empty again. She turned her head and saw Beth sitting in front of the tv. Blair placed the key on the desk, then made her way out of the hotel.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 2

Her knees were weak, and she sighed in relief when she finally stepped out of the cab. She had not realized that she had been holding her breath for most of the travel from Soi 8 to her hotel. The doorman graciously offered her a hand to help her out of the cab. Blair smiled and nodded to him as she stepped through the hotel doors.

"Miss Waldorf," greeted one of the hotel hostesses waiting by the door. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," Blair gushed. When one was exposed to places like the one that Chuck had chosen, one gets a newfound appreciation for things previously ignored. This place, this hotel which Cyrus had managed to book for her was so much more familiar that Blair finally allowed what had been choking her the entire ride over to overwhelm her. She crossed the marble floor towards the elevators and released a sob. The tears threatened to spill, and she prayed she would at least be inside the elevator when they did.

Blair slipped past the closing doors, then collapsed against the mirrored back wall. With fumbling fingers she reached for a piece of tissue from inside her bag, then dabbed under her eyes.

She didn't want to hurt, not anymore. But if this was what it meant to love Chuck Bass, then this is what she would live through.

The worst thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've ever had, I will stand by you through everything.

Her eyes fluttered closed and swallowed heavily. Eighteen year olds shouldn't experience this. They weren't cut out for this kind of torture. Masochist or not, Blair Waldorf wasn't sure how long she could keep that promise.

When the elevator stopped at her floor, she straightened and walked to her room. She slipped her card key into the slot and waited for the green light to blink on the knob, then let herself in. At least, she thought tiredly, she finally knew exactly where Chuck was. At least, despite trying to drink himself to death, she knew he was alive.

She crawled into bed and let her body relax.

Blair woke up with a start. She gasped at the loud rapping on her door. She glanced at the watch on the bedside table and saw that it was seven in the morning. Blair dragged her feet to the door and peered through the keyhole. Her eyes widened. Hastily, she opened the door.

"Miss Waldorf, we are very sorry," said the hostess. One of the guards stood behind her holding Chuck back. "We told him he couldn't go up here without your permission, but he barged right on through."

"What the hell, Blair!" Chuck cried out as he struggled with the man. "Tell them to let me go."

Blair nodded. "It's ok," she managed. "Sorry for the confusion. I was expecting him."

The guard let Chuck loose. Chuck straightened his jacket and strode arrogantly into her room, then slammed the door behind him. He glowered at Blair. "I told you to stay in the motel."

Her eyebrow arched, and she folded her arms across her chest. "Just because I've said those three words doesn't mean I have to follow your orders." He turned his gaze away, and Blair felt triumph at the fact that she could make him uncomfortable with honesty. "And I'm not going to hang around a cheap motel while you have your fill of exotic women."

His nostrils flared. "Why can't you understand? There's no place for you in my life right now." He stood so close to her that his harsh breathing caused wisps of her hair to float up, then down.

She met his eyes. "But here you are at an unholy hour for you, I'm sure."

"When I've just been informed that you dropped off your keys in the middle of the night!" he bit out. "You don't know how dangerous this country is for a girl traveling alone. That was ignorant." She turned around and picked up the phone handset. "You don't have to call security. I'll leave on my own."

Blair reached out her hand to stop him, then shook her head. "You look like you haven't showered, or eaten for days," she said as she waited for reception to pick up. "Room service please. Continental breakfast for two in room 3216." And then she hung up.

"I'm not hungry," Chuck growled.

She gave him a small smile, then threw his words back at him. "Well that's too bad, because you're gonna eat if I have to shove food down your throat."

"Nathaniel was right. So maternal," he drawled.

Blair threw a confused look at him. "When did you talk to Nate?" If Nate knew where Chuck was all along, and she had to go through weeks of cajoling Jack Bass to give her the pictures from the PI he had hired to track Chuck down, she was going to be pissed off.

"Couple of hours ago. Nathaniel was surprised," he muttered. Chuck smirked. "You didn't think I just happened to figure out which predictably high class hotel your stepfather chose for you, did you? Even I'm not that good. After calling the eighth one who won't give me information, I trusted that good old Nathaniel still kept tabs on his ex-girlfriend." Chuck sat down on the bed and lay back on her pillows. "I have to say that dear Nathaniel is always such a character. He knows more about your whereabouts now than when the two of you were dating."

If anything could bring Blair and Nate back to talking and working closely together, it was their small circle. First, it was Serena's meltdown and now, it was the search for Chuck.

"Or," Chuck continued with a sleazy drawl, "have you already hopped back in the sack with him?" He shrugged. "It's got some poetic justice in it if you did."

He was baiting her, and she was not going to give in so easily. She didn't travel all the way and hunt him down to a place worse than Brooklyn only to let his carefully selected words offend her. Blair sighed, then sat down beside him. On the bed, he stiffened, held his breath as she leaned over him. "What can I to make it better, Chuck?"

"Leave me alone," he gritted. "And what I can I do to get you to leave?"

"Nothing," she replied with an angelic softness. "I will get you on a plane back to the US if it's the last thing I do," she swore.

He sat up, then raked his eyes over her. She raised her chin. He narrowed his eyes. "I want to be clear on something, before you waste your time. If you're here waiting for me to say them, don't hold your breath," he advised.

"I don't need to hear them," she parried.

"Good. Because I don't love you, Blair."

Her eyes flicked, and she cleared her throat against the pang in her heart. "That's fine," she whispered.

"I thought, for a minute, I did. But my father's death gave me a better understanding of what love is, and I don't want to waste it in childish infatuation." He shook his head. "You're a hot piece of ass. But I'm not in love with you."

She hated herself for the tears. But still she kept the smile on her face as she cupped his cheek with its light stubble.

The worst thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've ever had…

"I still love you," she said softly.

Through the glaze of her tears, she saw the frustration mount in his eyes. Blair stifled the cry in her chest when he turned abruptly away from her and strode out of her hotel room.

She blindly stumbled to the side of the bed and picked her cellphone, then pressed her speed dial. The phone was answered almost immediately, and she didn't care that she was interrupting a night. She sobbed into the phone as she clutched it to her ear.

"Blair, sweetheart," came the soft voice on the other line.

"I don't know how long I can do this for," she choked out.

"Then come home," Cyrus urged. "I told you he needs time. Maybe he needs more."

She sniffed, then wiped at her tears. "I can't leave now." In the face of true love, you don't just give up even if the object of your affection is begging you to. "But I need to breathe," Blair said into the phone. "I'm suffocating. I want to scream."

"Sweetheart," Cyrus said in trepidation, "maybe you're not ready for this."

"I'm not," she admitted. "I'm really not." If she were, it wouldn't hurt this much.

"Do you want your mom and me to pick you up?"

"No," she said in a hush. "I just—I needed to hear a friendly voice."

"Alright." She could almost imagine her little stepfather nodding his head. She was so lucky with fathers. She wished Chuck had been as well. "Call anytime," Cyrus urged. "And if you need us, we'll be on the first flight in."

"Enjoy your honeymoon. Sorry for interrupting."

"Anytime. Remember, Blair, we love you."

She hung up the phone and released a tremulous breath. At least someone did.

The sound of the doorbell brought her back to reality. She opened the door and waved the bellboy in.

"Room service, Miss Waldorf."

"Thank you," she mumbled and handed the boy two hundred baht bill. Left alone in the room, she stared at the two heaping plates of breakfast food. The bile rose in her throat, and she slapped her hand to her mouth and ran to the bathroom.

Her phone rang, and she pulled herself up straight. Blair splashed cold water on her face and washed her mouth. She walked back towards the bedroom and looked at the flashing screen. She hit ignore, and a few seconds later, the phone rang again.

"Nate," she said hoarsely. "I'm really not in the mood to talk right now."

"I spoke to Chuck," her ex-boyfriend said in a rush. "So you found him. He was asking for your hotel."

"Thank you for that, by the way," she said sarcastically.

"I thought you wanted to find him. I didn't think there was a reason not to tell him where you were." There was a pause. "Did he come to see you?"

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"Blair, are you crying?" Nate asked quietly.

"Not anymore."

"I told you not to go after him—in the funeral, in Bangkok. Just give him space."

"Nate, I'm too tired for this."

"Listen." She heard him sigh. "Give me a few hours to make arrangements. I'm coming to get you."

Blair clutched the phone tighter to her ear. "No, Nate!" she exclaimed. "You don't need to come here. I'm not going back with you. I'm not going back until I can get through to Chuck."

"There's no way of getting through to him right now. We have to wait it out."

"Today is the first day you heard from Chuck in a month, because he was trying to find my hotel," Blair pointed out. "If anyone can through to him, I can." She took a deep breath. "He's coming home whether he wants to or not."

"What are going to do?"

Blair walked over to her still unpacked bag and drew out a red minidress. Blair held the phone to her ear with her shoulder and hung the dress up by the closet. Humphrey had advised once to be unavoidable. She knew what to expect, and she did not look forward to another encounter where Chuck got off on gutting her.

"Blair—"

But this what masochists do. Over and over and over until there was nothing left to bleed.

"I'm going to see him."


	4. Chapter 4

Part 3

The wind whipped against her, so hard, so fast, and it was obvious that she was on the top of the world. Blair stood at the edge of the rooftop and looked into the horizon to see Bangkok in its full glory. The strip of water cut through an area to her left and she made a mental note to visit the river market the next day, if only for the experience. Maybe Chuck would go with her. It was not too hard to expect that she could come out of this trip with fond memories of the boy, right?

Baiyoke Sky, 8 pm, was the message she had left for him in his motel. There was no need for a restaurant name, or even a room number. She knew, he would know. And he did.

"The rooftop bar," she heard from the stairway. Blair turned on her heel and saw him making his way towards her. "You really want to do this eighty eight stories up?"

She noticed his gaze flicker from her face to the figure she presented in the tight red short dress that Serena had given her for her birthday. Blair had never worn it in Manhattan, because despite how everyone else in her class dressed, she was still conservative at heart and the dress just did not suit her. Ironic then that the first time she was going to put it on, it was in a kingdom far more traditional than her beloved New York. But if she learned anything from her best friend, it was the value of a hidden weapon, and this was one weapon that Chuck Bass had never learned to protect himself from.

"I'm sorry," he said in his soft voice, "did you want to see me, or were you looking to earn some extra cash?"

He stepped in front of her, and Blair frowned. "Stop being crude." It did not escape her how closely he stood now, and as she turned back to the beautiful skyline, he placed his hand on the small of her back—a silent, certain sign to everyone looking that he was with her.

"Stop dressing like a whore."

Her brain flew to the two girls waiting for him in his motel, and how he had flaunted their presence. Whether she would admit to it or not, it was what made her leave. "I thought that's where your tastes ran now."

She tore away her gaze from the city scene and looked up at him. His glare focused on the long drop down to the lit, jam-packed road below. "That jump must be interminable," he murmured. Something in his eyes caused her heart to pump heavily, to slow, then to beat almost audibly in her ears. Unconsciously, her hand rested on his upper arm. Then, Blair placed both of her hands on his wrist, and she pulled him away from the edge. "Don't tell me you have a room here too. Cyrus must be rolling in cash."

"You and I," she started, and cleared her throat at the emotion that rose just by saying the pronouns. She could say that pronoun combination forever, in everything, tagged with any action she wanted to verbalize, if only he would let her. She caught herself. "You and I are going to sit down and eat. We have reservations."

"One drink," he granted her smoothly.

Chuck turned to the rooftop bar, but she caught her arm. "No," she said. "Not in a bar. I don't want to talk to you over this noise." The wind distracted too, and it whipped her hair across her face. She caught her breath when he reached out to catch the wayward lock and push it behind her ear. "We have a table in the Banyan Tree." A cozy atmosphere, traditional Thai dishes, soft mood music. She was determined to create memories. Perhaps in the dark, when she wasn't there, and he drink himself to oblivion or shoot himself up to delirium, fragments of tonight would taunt his mind and make him stop.

He allowed her to pull him down the one flight of stairs that led to the elevators. Blair pressed the floor and then turned to Chuck. When she did, her lips parted when she saw him watching her. Blair reached her hand out, her palm open and her eyes expecting. He looked down at her proffered hand. His own hand fisted. She lowered her hand, then drew a shaky breath.

When they stepped out of the elevator, Blair stepped out and was greeted by a pretty young woman in a traditional silk dress with gold costume jewelry on her ears. Blair looked back and Chuck stepped outside with a leering smile. She wanted to roll her eyes, but it was not effective when you rolled teary ones. Instead, Blair turned back to the hostess and said, "Reservation under Waldorf."

"Let me check that, Miss Waldorf."

His breath was warm in her ear when he said to her, "You do know how bad it looks when the table is reserved under the woman's name." He still smelled like scotch and she hated that he didn't bother to hide that he had something to drink before even taking her up on her invitation.

"Imagine how much worse this would look that we're gonna use my credit card."

He snarled. "Keep your money. I have more than enough to feed you and this entire hotel."

Blair broke into a forced smile when the hostess turned back to them and gestures with a smooth arm towards the table pressed against the floor length ceiling high glass. The view was still spectacular, if a little lower than the rooftop bar. "I invited you," she pointed out. "I'm paying for this."

Chuck waved off the menu that was offered to him, and Blair did the same. "I placed the selection over the phone," she clarified to the waiter.

"Of course, ma'am. So sorry."

Left alone with him at the table, she told Chuck, "You are going to eat. Your stomach lining has probably burned off and your breath is starting to smell."

"So romantic," he murmured. Chuck took a lighter out of his pocket, then drew out a stick and pursed his lips around it.

Blair picked it out of his mouth. "No cigarettes."

"It's not a cigarette," he pointed out.

Blair's eyes widened. "Are you insane?" she hissed. She dropped the stick inside her clutch bag. "You are going to get us arrested. Chuck, please."

He set his jaw. "Fine. I'll behave like the good boy you always wanted me to be." She let out a relieved breath. "Tonight. I'll be a perfect gentleman, good enough to rival Archibald, or Lord Fauntleroy," he drawled, still using ridiculous names for Marcus, "but you have to agree to leave me alone afterwards."

Blair met his gaze with her own hurt look. "I can't leave you alone when you're like this."

"You are not—"

"I'm not," she interrupted. If he said it one more time, she was going to scream. She knew it. She didn't have a right to demand anything. She was nothing to him. But he was everything. To her. "But even casual acquaintances care enough that she wouldn't want you to spiral."

The waiter arrived with an aromatic plate of saffron rice, and Blair breathed in deep. She hastily dabbed a napkin under her eyes, careful not to ruin her makeup. The man placed a two covered bowls in front of them, then two glasses of water. Chuck arched his brow at her at the sight of the clear liquid. The waiter bowed, then left. "Water then," Chuck agreed. "And then you're on the first flight back."

Blair did not answer. Instead, she took off the covers of the bowls and picked one of the viands up, then held it under his nose. "Smell that."

Chuck looked at her from under hooded eyes. "Stop."

She narrowed her eyes. "Smell it." And he did. His stomach rumbled. "It's chicken and vegetable in some spicy paste."

"You don't know what it's called?" he asked.

Blair shrugged her shoulders, then speared one piece of chicken and popped it in her mouth. As she chewed, she nodded. "I just told them to bring us their bestsellers enough for two. It's good." Chuck looked down suspiciously at the food. He inspected the other dish. He piled on the saffron rice onto his plate. When he looked up, Blair had meat speared on her fork as she held it to him.

He looked at her with scorn. "I'm not going to eat off your fork."

Blair demanded, "Why not? I am arguably cleaner than you are."

At her challenge, he curled his lips, then took the meat in his mouth and chewed. She smiled in pleasure, "So?"

He nodded. "Good."

"I told you!"

Chuck took the glass of water in his hand, then raised it to his lips. Blair smiled up at him and urged him to eat. When he did, she watched as the food dwindled on his plate, then served him more. She reached for the chicken, and he caught her wrist. She looked up at him.

"Going home is out of the question," he said. "Do you understand that?" Slowly, she nodded. "Then what do you want from me?"

She leaned her head to the side as she regarded him. Blair pulled her hand away, then put down her utensils. She took her napkin and dabbed at her lips. "I want—"

"Make it realistic, so I can give it to you, and you can go back to New York."

Blair licked her lips. "I want—" She shook her head. "I don't want," she emphasized, "to lose you."

He leaned close, over the table. "You think you ever had me?"

She was not going to cry this time. "You'd be lying if you said I didn't."

Chuck leaned back in his chair and regarded her. And then, his stance relaxed, and he ate. When they finished their meal, Blair took out her platinum card and placed it on the black leather bill jacket without checking the bill.

When they rose, she said, "Come back with me."

"No," he said.

"I know," she breathed. He stood behind her now, and his hand brushed against her arm as he helped her up. "I know you don't want to go home. But come back with me to my hotel."

His hand closed over her upper arm, and the warmth of his palm contrasted with the coldness of her skin. "I'd love to—"

"Great."

"But I can't."

She turned around in the circle of his arms, and looked up at him, puzzled. "No strings, Chuck. I'm not gonna bring up New York," she promised.

He ran his fingers from her chin, to her cheek, and she turned her lips to brush a kiss against his hand. "I'm busy tonight."

"What?"

He nodded towards the hostess, waiting at the restaurant door. "I have something to hunt."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and Blair's eyes clouded. "Chuck," she protested.

"You've gotta go home. You're not cut out for this," he stressed. He leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed, and a tear dropped to her cheek.

"You're making it so hard," she whispered into his ear before he straightened.

"I'm making it so easy, Blair," he argued. "You're making it difficult on both of us."

"Be careful. I can only take so much." She turned and walked away, careful to keep her eyes away from the hostess, training her gaze on the elevator. She did not need to remember her features, her body type, her hair or her complexion. She did not need fodder for her nightmares.

All these women, they were nothing to him. Nothing at all.

We both know I'm your one and only.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Part 4

Blair Waldorf did not approach Chuck Bass for two days after that night. Once she had joked with her best friend, when she and Chuck were younger—not in years, but after the past few weeks it seemed to her that they aged decades inside—that if he did not return her words when she professed her love, she would fling herself off the Brooklyn rooftop she had intended to declare the three words she held so closely to her heart. She was afraid that if she did go back to Chuck and continue her chase right then, she would return to the 88-storey high building and find a way to make real her threat.

The only thing that could possibly stop her, she thought in those few hours after he had sent her away, knowing that he was circling his Thai prey with his irritating but irresistible charms, was the thought of the messy corpse that it would make. If she were going to die, she was going to leave a body as beautiful as she could make it.

Blair's lips curved. Meanwhile, she stopped in the night bazaar and returned to her hotel with eight bags of inexpensive couture blouses. Kati and Iz would go gaga over them, and it made her feel better at least to think about the life she left behind. Her clique was what she should be worried about, instead of a non-boyfriend who was bent on killing himself with grief, no matter what it cost her.

She told herself she would take a ride through the river market, and she did. Pathetically, a single woman in a large boat passing through boats loaded with tour groups. People waved at her, and took her pictures. She wondered what the tourists would caption her image on that boat, with her big straw hat, sitting at the center of the long empty boat.

With each thing she did, she wondered what it would be like if Chuck Bass were doing it with her. He would probably have bought more than she did in the night bazaar. And she would have probably scowled the entire time at the scents and sounds in the river market. The Basshole.

She should just pack up and leave, but she realized that when Chuck said that you did not give up in the face of true love, he did not cower and hide when she stung him with her words and decisions, when she flaunted Marcus in front of him. When she and Nate kissed, he had been right there whispering cautionary words into her ear.

So now here she sat in the hotel bar, thinking of the best way to approach him next. He used to say it a lot: he adored her scheming. Blair would show him that she still had it in her.

"I said club soda," she insisted firmly when a glass of vodka gimlet was placed in front of her.

"Compliments of the gentleman, Miss Waldorf," the bartender said.

Blair turned and saw the blonde man raise his glass to her. He was kind of cute. She had gone for his type once. She smiled at him, but pushed the glass back to the bartender. "Take it back. I'm not drinking any alcohol tonight."

When the club soda was placed in front of her, Blair nursed the drink and returned to her plotting. And then, a man occupied the seat beside her.

"Hello."

Blair turned and saw the suit. He looked Thai, fair-skinned with narrow eyes. She gave a small smile. "Hi," she forced, then turned back to her drink to show him she was not interested.

"I own the hotel," the man offered.

Blair rolled her eyes. Been there, done that. "Not now," she said smoothly. She slid off her seat, then told the bartender, "I'm moving to a booth."

She walked to the back of the bar and found a booth in the far end. She slid gratefully into the soft leather seat and placed her glass on the table. It had only been about fifteen minutes when another glass was placed in front of her. Blair almost growled in frustration. "Can you people not take a hint," she snapped.

"I have been in transit for twenty hours, and this is my welcome?"

Blair glanced up in surprise, and saw Nate Archibald standing in front of her. "Nate!" She rose from her booth and threw her arms around him. "What are you doing here? I told you not to come."

"Apparently, we are both bad at following orders." Blair gave a lopsided smile, then sat back down. Nate slid into the seat in front of her. "How could I not come when you sounded like that?"

"Was it that bad?"

"Let's just go home. Chuck likes to deal with his problems alone. He always did."

"You mean he always ran, don't you?"

Nate shrugged. "All I know is you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't let him drag you down."

And it was then that Blair realized that whatever he knew, it was so small against the whole truth. If he knew what Blair really felt, he would not say what he did. Maybe it was her fault. She never really came out and told Nate what she felt. She doubted Chuck confessed everything to his best friend. "You don't understand."

He reached across the table, then covered her hand with his. "Make me."

"I can't," Blair told him. "You're Nate."

"That's exactly why you can. I'm Nate. We are both eighteen and we spent ten years together. I was your boyfriend more than half my life. Considering I don't remember a lot of the first several years, you could say many of my first memories involved you." Blair cocked her head and considered his claim, and she knew it was true on her part as well. But lately—lately, memories of Nate just paled in comparison to the few moments with Chuck. "Nothing you can say or do can shock me." That much was a lie, she thought. Nate had been surprised with her decision to be with Chuck, but she guessed now he had etched that detail in her profile, and considered it now part of her personality. "Tell me. What's wrong?"

Blair took a large gulp of her club soda. She regarded Nate as she swallowed the drink. Despite the fallout between them, he had always been concerned when it came to their little circle—Serena, Chuck. He had only ever been pretty insensitive when it came to her, and she had forgiven it a long time ago and pegged it as part of being in a relationship you did not really want. She did it to Marcus after all. "Chuck is being a stubborn jerk," she started.

"That's not exactly new, Blair."

"And he says all these things to hurt me."

"That's a little new," Nate admitted. "I don't remember him ever being deliberately cruel to you."

He obviously never found out about that little scene at the bar when she came to Chuck after Nate dumped her. The Arabian comment had been so harsh she almost fled to France. He needed a shock, and she needed to confide. She couldn't say it even to Cyrus, and he had been the first person she had felt free to divulge her deepest secrets to without fear of consequences. Even to Serena, she had guarded herself. "I haven't had my period for eight weeks."

She watched as he slowly sipped his drink, then just as slowly placed the glass down on the table, right beside the wet ring it had previously left. "When?" he asked finally.

No need for clarification there. "The night before he left."

"Jesus, Blair, he must have been drunk out of his mind." And somehow it felt like an accusation. She was the one in her right mind then. She was the one who should have put a stop to it. "Have you taken a test?"

She shook her head. "I don't wanna know."

Nate frowned. "Is that why you came?"

Again, she shook her head. "I just realized two days ago." The night she went back to her hotel suite and collapsed crying on the bed, thinking of his night with the Banyan Tree hostess.

"He doesn't need this right now, Blair."

"I know. Don't you think I know that?" She took a deep breath, then picked up her club soda and downed the rest. She reached for the drink he had brought her, but he caught her hand.

"It's not virgin."

Blair gave him a thin smile. "Don't let Chuck hear that comment." Nate was amused enough by the wry, self-deprecation that he grinned. "Don't worry. I won't say a thing. I'm not going to have him come home because he got some girl pregnant. I've seen tv dramas like that. It's not exactly a brilliant plot twist, is it?"

"This isn't a movie you're writing, not a tv show. This is real, Blair. What will you do if you are?"

She blinked, then raised her hand for service. A waiter stopped at their booth, and she ordered another club soda.

"What will you do if you are?"

Her voice was soft when she said, "You don't really want to know the answer to that."

Wordlessly, he stood and transferred beside her. He reached for her and wrapped his arms around her, then dropped a kiss on the top of her head. The physical connection was familiar, and astounding to Blair as Nate's arms tightened around her. Ten years together and now that they were apart, it was the first time she felt this connected to him, felt this much empathy towards her coming from the boy she had come so close to being engaged to. She clutched at the front of his shirt and let the tears flow.

A moment later, Nate stiffened, then strained his neck to look around. Blair looked up at him. "What is it?"

"Did you see that?"

"What?"

"I swear I thought I saw a camera flash."

Blair sighed. The waiter returned with her drink. "It's Bangkok, Nate. Gossip Girl won't follow you here."

The city was just coming out of the holidays, and the hotel was still booked to the brim. Nate scratched his head as the concierge checked the other hotels in the area, coming up empty save for the smaller inns of the kind that she found Chuck in. Blair shook her head.

"You came here for me. The least I can do is to let you stay in my room." She looked back at the concierge. "Until a new one opens up. So please reserve the next room for Mr Archibald the moment it's available."

"Very well, Miss Waldorf."

Blair turned to Nate, only to see him glaring at a man who was seated in the lush armchairs near the lobby. A split second later, Nate was shrugging her hand off his arm and stalking towards the man. "Nate, what are you doing?" she shouted after him.

The man shifted in his seat nervously. He closed his laptop, then looked up at Nate. Without hesitation, Nate grabbed the man's shirt and hauled him up. Blair gasped, then ran towards the two.

By the time she reached them, Nate had delivered the first blow that sent the man sprawling on the floor. "Nate!" she cried. "What's wrong with you?"

"Tell her!" he hissed. "Tell her who you're working for."

Blair's eyes widened at the implication. She spied the digital camera plugged into the USB port of the laptop. She opened listed the screen and scrolled through images of her in the bar. Blair shuddered at the pictures of her with Nate, as she cried into his shirt, when she hugged him in welcome, even pictures alone as she sat in the bar. "He's spying on me." Blair skimmed through photos of her shopping. Every activity was recorded.

"No!" the man yelled as he saw the hotel guards closing in on them. "I'm guarding you."

"By taking my pictures?"

"I was hired to keep you safe. The pictures are proof, so I can get my money," the man stammered.

"Who?" she shrieked. Next to no one knew where she was. It was her mom, her dad, Cyrus, Nate—Chuck.

"Mr Bass. Mr Bass hired me."

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Part 5

Blair rapped on the door of his motel room, glad for the first time about the quality of service in the place that she and Nate could just walk right on in without anyone flagging their presence. Blair pressed her ear to the door and heard only what sounded like the television set.

He wasn't even on an American channel.

Did this motel even have cable?

Blair pounded on the door once more. Then she sighed and sent Nate down to ask for assistance. He had only been gone a few minutes when the door swung open to reveal Chuck heavily leaning against the knob.

"I should've expected this," she muttered as he fell against her, reeking of liquor. Blair caught his weight in her arms and she stumbled towards the bed and dumped him. Blair leaned over him and slapped his cheek. "Chuck," she called. "Chuck, wake up. We need to talk about your asinine plan to stalk me by proxy," Blair hissed.

His head rolled to the side. Blair straightened in concern. Memories of Serena van der Woodsen's alcohol-induced frenzies returned to her. The door swung open and Nate stepped inside with the receptionist. Blair waved the girl away. "We'll take care of it," she said. To Nate, she asked, "Help me get him into the shower."

Nate moved quickly, and held up his best friend as Blair pushed Chuck's jacket off his shoulders. She unhooked Chuck's belt pulled it free.

"Oh yeah," Chuck moaned, his words dripping with sleaze. "You know you want me."

"Shut up, man!" Nate snapped. He slung Chuck's arm around his shoulders and stumbled into the bathroom. Blair assisted on Chuck's other side and helped Nate dislodge the barely conscious boy from him until Chuck leaned heavily against the tiles.

Blair twisted the knob, and warm water sprayed over them. She took the shower nozzle and turned it to Chuck, who spat and cursed at the onslaught of the water.

"Blair!" Chuck groaned in recognition.

Blair turned to Nate, then nodded towards the door. "You can go. Wait in the lobby. There's a tv that's always on." Blair placed the shower nozzle back.

Nate frowned. "And leave you alone with him? He's clearly gone insane."

Her lips thinned. "And you think he'd be any better seeing you here?" Chuck sank down the tiled wall to sit under the shower spray. "Go."

The blonde turned, then returned with the corded phone of the motel. He placed it on the floor right by the bathroom door. "Call the lobby if you need me."

Blair waited for the door to close, then turned back to Chuck. She stepped back a little at the sight of him staring at her as the shower pelted his body. "Is this how it's always going to be like, Blair?" The surprise was evident in her face, she knew. Chuck Bass could speak straight coming out of a drunken stupor. His eyes were still half-lidded, and she was willing to wager her fortune that his head was spinning.

She answered. "You tell me. I am always going to find you half-dead on the other side of the world?" She sighed, then picked up the tiny bottle of shower gel and walked towards him. Since he was in there anyway, it wouldn't hurt if he were a little more—Well, if he didn't stink of alcohol so much. Blair popped the cap and rubbed the slick liquid on his neck. Then she slid her hands under his wet shirt. People bathed babies, not boys who were old enough and experienced enough to be fathers.

"I meant," he whispered, leaning over her, his hair dripping water onto her clothes, "is Nate always going to show up when you think it's getting too hard?"

Blair pulled away and studied his cold eyes. "But you don't care, Chuck," she reminded him. He turned his gaze away. "Which is why I want to know why there's a man following me around saying he's working for you."

Chuck bared his teeth. "I'm gonna fire his ass." And that was all that he would say. Blair pursed her lips and unbuttoned his shirt, then continued washing him. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed. "Isn't Nate going to be mad?"

She glared at him in frustration. "You know as well as I do that we're past the stage where you get jealous of Nate!" she snapped. "Stop pretending."

"He's always part of our lives," he muttered. "I hurt you and he comes running to rescue. That's not a coincidence."

"Then, Chuck," she communicated matter-of-factly, "stop hurting me."

"I can't," he choked out.

"Is it really that difficult?" she whispered. Sitting propped up by the tiles, on the floor of a suspicious motel, he watched her with keen eyes. Her voice was soft when she asked, "Aren't you tired yet? Don't you just want to come home?"

"I have no mother. My father's dead," he said. Chuck leaned back his head, and Blair's heart fragmented a little when he ended it with, "Home to what?"

He may not have answered her question, but she was and she did. Tired. Missing home. She was kneeling on tiles that should have disgusted her, still did, but she was kneeling anyway because he was here and this was where she could talk to him. She was tired of crying, and she wasn't going to show him any more tears. It made him meaner somehow, like he could see where she was weak and knew just where to hit. She reached for the shower knob and turned it back on in full blast.

And now, with both of them sodden, there was no way he could tell she was crying.

"I wish you could see that I'm part of your life now," she said softly. And she knew he could barely hear her words under the shower. Blair leaned closer to him. "I'm a part of your life," she repeated. "When you think of home, Chuck, consider me too."

"You don't understand what I'm feeling," he said brokenly, his face down to avoid the water.

Blair clutched at his bare shoulder, wordless, because he had not been willing to talk about it for so long. And now here, with his words drowned out by the running water, he would speak, and she would listen.

"None of you have lived your whole lives like I did, waiting for crumbs of his attention like an eager dog," he spat. Chuck raised his face to the shower, and she suspected he employed the same tactic she did when she knew she was about to cry. Hide your tears. "To the very last day I was a disappointment to him. And—" he said, turning to Blair with eyes red-rimmed and shadowed, "I fucking loved him. Didn't make one hell of a difference."

His voice trembled, and he turned his body to hers. Blair settled from kneeling to sit on the bathroom floor. She opened her arms to accommodate him as he pressed against her, laying his head against her breast. "Loved him all my life and nothing," he muttered against her skin.

Blair stroked his wet hair as he pressed against her, heavily, insistently, as if he wanted to sink, to vanish in her. She could not tell him she knew what that life was—her father and Cyrus loved her so easily, and her little triumphs had been celebrated since she was a child. But she knew—God, did she know—how he felt throughout it all.

"That's why I don't love you," came his soft words.

And for the first time, she felt no pain in the statement.

"I'm never going to love you," he continued.

Blair's eyes fluttered closed and she buried a kiss in his hair as she held onto him. "It's okay, Chuck." She had her own arsenal. She brought them with her everywhere she went, at the ready for whenever Chuck was around. Their move, from when Blair had been leaning over him as he sat under the shower, to the position they were in now, with Chuck pressing against her with his head on her breast, allowed them to slide away from the direct trajectory of the water. Their words now, even when said so softly, could be heard. They were the only two people in the world. "I'm still not going to stop. I'm always going to love you."

She had said it so many times she was afraid they would sound trite. But the way he tightened his hold on her, she knew to him, at least, it would never grow old.

Who cared that she never heard them back?

"Just don't hurt yourself anymore," she pleaded. "Do anything you want, but don't drink yourself to death. Take care of yourself," she urged him. "Because I love you."

And there was no greater weapon. He pressed his cold lips to her collarbone. Blair smiled sadly. No words, nothing but this. Chuck's lips were firm and seeking as he pushed up from his slack position against her. His torso was still wet and slick with the shower gel, and her hands slipped when she laid them on his back.

He took her lips with his in a sloppy kiss. "Please." Blair hesitated. No matter what happened in her life, she was still Blair Waldorf, and the bathroom floor in a cheap motel in soi 8 was never part of her movie. "Please," he repeated. "Those girls—never got there."

And whether she believed him or not was moot.

"Please, Blair," he said, his mouth pressed against the shell of her ear. "I need it. I need you."

That was enough. "Okay," she said soothingly. "Okay, Chuck, okay." She lay down on the tiled floor with the water falling directly over her stomach. Blair watched as he pulled off his pants and shucked his boxers, leaving the items sodden and clumped in the corner. He pressed his weight over her, and she could imagine the water now falling on the small of his back.

This time, unlike the last time in her bed, he took the time to pull off her panties. She glanced at the scrap of material as he threw it on top of his discarded clothes. Her legs parted to make room for him. Chuck pulled up the dress to settle it over her hips. "I need you," he repeated, as if asking for permission.

And she repeated, "Okay, Chuck."

He surged inside her, and she cried out, then grasped onto his slippery back. He lay still inside her, and Blair swallowed over and over, stretched at the fullness inside of her. Her heart beat violently as she waited for him to move. His breath was hot against her cheek, and it was brandy and whiskey and sickening alcohol she could not even recognize.

God, was this what her life would be like?, she wondered. He pulled out, then back in. Blair bit onto his shoulder at the excruciating pain and pleasure that intertwined with the movement.

She grew so cold she was close to trembling as she pressed back against the tiles. And he was so hot inside her even as his body on top of her was cold and clammy and slick. "Chuck," she released in one breath. "It hurts."

And then, she found herself gripped tightly to his chest as he maneuvered both of them so that he knelt away from the shower spray, and she was above him with her legs on either side of him. His hands settled on her waist, and he lifted her until she was mostly off of him, then helped her slam back down. "Better?" he rasped against her arm as he kissed to her shoulder blade.

Blair nodded, and raised herself up, then down, seeking release for herself. The last time he had reached his climax, and she was left wanting. In this mood, in this place, in this world, Chuck Bass would find his end and she had to think of herself too. He thrust up in her, and Blair frantically moved to find her own release.

She pushed closer and closer to it, until the coiled tension in her stomach broke and she exploded, hanging limply against Chuck as he jerked up inside her twice more. And then she felt the hot, sticky fluid shoot up from his body and into hers. The position caused his semen to drip out, to her inner thighs and flood him.

Long moments later, she felt him move her to his arms and realized that he was rising. And then, they were under the shower spray again. She sputtered and clung to him, because her knees were still weak and she would slip on the floor without help. Blair let out a choked cry of surprise when she felt his hand move between her legs.

And then she realized, as his slick hand ran down her inner thighs. He was washing her.

Blair laid her cheek against his chest, and she was grateful once again that the shower could hide them. But she knew he felt the hot tears against his skin.

This was not healthy. This was not her.

He lifted her up into his arms and settled her on the bed. And then, he climbed in beside her. She turned her back on him. He pressed up spooning behind her. She felt him, and like the teenage boy he was, only minutes after he spent himself, he was eager to go. His kiss was hot against her nape.

"Blair," he said softly, his hands settling on her hips.

This was not her, she thought, and still she felt herself pressing her buttocks against Chuck. He slipped inside her, and he laid one hand firmly over her stomach. Her hands reached behind her and pulled his ass tightly against her. They moved together gently, rubbing against each other, slowly, no frantic movement. It wasn't anymore as if they were driving to a finish.

And that was when Blair Waldorf broke.

In the morning, Chuck Bass would wake up alone.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 6

Over and over she could say those words and he would never forget the way his heart clenched every single time. She was stubborn, wouldn't stop, and he wished so bad she never would.

Wherever he was now—whatever this planet was around him, this world that he felt himself trapped within—there was only one voice that pulled him back where everyone else was. And if only for that, despite the myriad ways he insisted he did not want her, Chuck Bass would come every time Blair Waldorf called. He did it after she told him she loved him for the first time, and he found himself waiting in her bedroom in hopes of hearing it another time; he did it when he barged into her hotel after she found him; he did it at the rooftop even when he knew she would play on his undeniable desire.

Anytime he found himself trapped and sinking, her voice pierces right through and he would clutch at those thin threads and pull himself out.

Someday, he thought sleepily as the two of them lay tangled on the mussed sheets, when all was said and done, he would marry her.

His eyes were drooping and his limbs so heavy that he wondered how it was that somehow, he felt like he was only just waking.

Too few women carved their place in his life—his mother, Lily, Serena. All the other women's faces blended together to form one faceless body that he could not even sink into. They came, they laughed, they played, they flirted. But Chuck Bass could not lose himself inside any of them. Not since Blair. Never since Blair. Her body shook in his arms and he knew she was crying silently, afraid that he would know, reluctant to show him that she was hurting now. Too few women mattered enough for him to remember.

Except for this girl. God, he would marry her. He knew it for certain. The moment this was all over, and he did not feel like every breath he took was made of water, he would marry her.

All the others had been effortless. But the way to Blair Waldorf was the most difficult path he ever had to tread. She had run and he had chased her. Now he found himself running so hard, so fast, so unwilling to play the cat and mouse game and still he found her chasing. He pushed her and cheated and tripped her. And she was behind him.

_The worst thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've ever had, I will stand by you through everything._

They were the most beautiful words he had ever heard.

One day, he would marry this girl.

One day he would no longer be destroyed the way he was now, and they would come together. No trying, no crying, they would fall into place like the king and queen in a deck of cards.

The certainty allowed him to sleep.

Someday he would marry Blair Waldorf, and that was the oddest certainty he ever had in his fucked up imitation of life.

He was pressed up behind her, with his member still halfway inside her, limp and spent. She was no longer crying, and he could tell the exact moment she fell asleep when she relaxed in his arms. He found himself placing a kiss on the back of her shoulder. _Someday, I'll love you._

And his body sank into the pillows as he waited for sleep to claim him.

Morning came, and he opened his eyes to a world suddenly so bright that with it came a piercing pain in his head. Of course. Cheap alcohol always caused hangovers like this. His first instinct was to reach beside him for the warm body she had fallen asleep against the night before. Chuck's eyes fluttered open and found the empty space beside his.

"Blair," he called. He quickly sat up on the bed. He hissed at the pain in his head at his sudden movement. Chuck stumbled out of the bed and into the bathroom, tripping on the telephone cord on the way. His eyes fell to the discarded clothes piled in the corner. He fell to his knees in front of the porcelain bowl and heaved. The dress was still there. No surprise given that it was still wet. As he threw up liquid contents of his stomach, he felt his strength and languor drain.

Chuck pulled himself up and went to the shower. He rinsed his mouth and spat. And then, he stepped under the shower. The water, as always, was warm, and as it sluiced through his torso, his eyes fell to the tiled floor.

_Please. I need it. Please, Blair. I need you._

He grabbed the towel and pulled hard that it pinged on the metal towel rod. Chuck rubbed the water out of his hair and dried himself. He glared at the dirty laundry that he had never bothered to have the motel service picked up. For the first time since he arrived here, he looked in the mirror and took in his appearance as he pulled on a pair of pants and a yellow sweater.

Chuck ran his gaze over the room, his nose turned up, his face turned into a scowl.

Bangkok had dozens of five-star hotels, some even affiliated with Bass Industries. What the hell was he doing in this dive?

Within the hour, he checked himself out of Best City Hotel—when were they ever going to fix those dead lights—and into a hotel that better suited his last name.

Hers.

Chuck rang the doorbell outside her suite, then waited. When there was no response, Chuck rang the bell again.

"She's not there."

He turned and saw Nate walking towards him, then glowered when his best friend took a key card from his pocket and slid it into the slot. Nate entered the room. Before the door shut, Chuck stopped it with his shoe, then stepped inside. "Where'd she go?"

Nate sighed, then grabbed the suitcase from the bottom of the closet. It had not been unpacked. He reached into a drawer and grabbed a handful of Blair's underwear to stuff inside the bag. Chuck walked forward and grabbed the rest, including the lacy bra she had been wearing to Victrola the first night.

"On her flight back to New York," Nate informed his best friend. Chuck stopped breathing. "Finally."

So that was it? This is what she meant when she said she would stand by him through anything.

"Good," Chuck muttered, hoping his voice hid the hurt. "She shouldn't have come."

Nate grabbed the suitcase and zipped it closed. He picked it up and laid it on the floor by the door. "I'm leaving too. Just need to grab her stuff. She wanted to leave so suddenly we didn't even bother picking this up."

"About time you two understood that I don't need anyone."

"You really don't, do you?" Nate asked. Chuck didn't answer. He had come to see one person. She wasn't here, and there was no way he would hang around Nate right now. "Funny thing," Nate continued, and for the life of him, Chuck Bass still couldn't just walk out of a room when his best friend was talking. And so he paused. "Blair Waldorf is the biggest bitch I've ever known."

Chuck's jaw tightened, because even if she was no one was supposed to talk like that about Blair. Not with Chuck around.

"But she stuck with me for ten years even if, and I admit it, I was the worst boyfriend in the world."

Chuck turned his head a little, not enough to look at his friend, but his enough so that Nate would be sure he was being addressed. "You ignored her constantly, kept chasing after a girl who didn't want you while you had a better one waiting around." Chuck remembered all the times that Blair let off steam by talking his ear off about Nate's various lacks. And through it all, he had thought, if that were his girl, he would never do what Archibald did. "You were too full of yourself to notice that underneath that veneer, you were hurting her."

"She stayed for ten years," Nate emphasized. "Obviously whatever I did couldn't have hurt her the way you do."

Chuck faced Nate, then swallowed. "There's a difference between you and me."

Nate let out a laugh, then checked the passport in his pocket. "She stayed for ten years and the only reason we broke up is you. What makes you think she wouldn't stay longer if you gave her a chance?"

"She's already left," Chuck gritted out.

Nate picked up Blair's suitcase, appearing ridiculous even to Chuck because Blair's bag was light pink with mint green trim. "You always thought you were more mature than any of us because of everything you've done that our parents never allowed us to do. You're not. Grow up."

One month later, Chuck stepped out of a familiar elevator and stepped into the richly furnished penthouse apartment that was so simple and stylish that there was no doubt a designer lived there. He would come to her, face her, take the blame. He was in New York, for heaven's sake—the place where the woman who cuckolded his father was, the place where every move he made could be observed by paparazzi who suddenly developed a thousand times more interest in him now that the Bass billions were watermarked into his skin, the place that killed his father.

Then again, this was New York—where he had compared her to a horse, where he stood by idly when her friends brought her down, where he had refused to return her three words.

"Charles, it's good to see you!" He snapped out of his reverie by the cheerful declaration that seemed out of place with his current mood.

Chuck lowered his gaze, and was surprised to see Cyrus grinning effusively. The man extended his hand and the moment Chuck took it, Cyrus had pulled him forward for a quick, warm hug.

"Welcome back, Charles. Glad to see you in New York." Cyrus smiled. "Looking a little tanner. Looks good on you." Of course, Cyrus had last seen him in the funeral, and the paleness was probably from the way he was loaded.

Chuck sputtered, searching for an response, taken aback by the unexpected greeting. He had been prepared to face Dorota and what was undoubtedly going to be Dorota's wrath. Instead, he had a short man hugging him. "I'm looking for Blair."

"Eleanor, look who's stopped by for a visit!" called out the older man towards the kitchen.

Chuck held his breath as he waited for Eleanor to step out. It had been silent for a good long time, and now suddenly it seemed like he were stepping into a frenzy. When Eleanor peered, then stepped outside tying her robe in front of her, Chuck swallowed. "Where's Dorota?" he blurted out.

Eleanor broke into a smile. "Charles!" And he watched as if in a dream as the woman walked towards him with open arms, then enfolded him in a hug. Blair had obviously not told the two about Bangkok. "How are you dealing?" Eleanor asked, patting his cheek as if he were still the foul-mouthed little orphan boy that his daughter sometimes brought home from kindergarten.

Chuck tried not to breathe in Eleanor's perfume, but the woman was all over him and the scent assailed him. It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable to have people surrounding you. Chuck stumbled backwards. "Blair?"

"You just missed her. She and Dorota left about two hours ago."

"Would you like to wait in the living room for them? I have some nice wine that we brought with us from Nice."

Eleanor placed a hand on Cyrus' shoulder. "Darling, he's underage."

"I'm sure Charles can appreciate the value of a fine wine." Cyrus' eyebrows rose, waiting for Chuck's response.

"I'm—I'm not—" Chuck took a step back and hit the call button of the elevator. "I'll come back."

When the doors opened, Chuck stepped in, leaning heavily on the back wall. As the elevator doors closed, and Eleanor's and Cyrus' smiles disappeared, he sighed in relief.

That was absolutely not him.

Lily and his father never looked like that.

When did Eleanor start caring that much?

And were the two of them wearing bathrobes in the middle of the day?

The flashing numbers on the elevator turned to G, and Chuck straightened to get off. And then, the doors slid open with a ding. Chuck turned and saw Blair Waldorf, in dark shades, wearing a thick coat, black tights and flats.

"Mr Chuck!"

Standing beside Dorota.

Chuck searched his brain for the best way to address Blair, after four weeks, knowing what the last week was like before she left. He licked his lips, then asked, "Going up?"

"We were in the hospital," Dorota blurted.

She stayed there, just looking at him, or with her eyes closed—he couldn't tell because her glasses were so dark. What he could tell was she was still for several seconds, and he pressed the open button.

"Why?" he breathed.

And then, Blair hugged her clutch to her chest, then turned her back on him and started walking away.

"Let's go, Dorota," she snapped.

"Blair!" he called as he ran after her. He caught her arms and stopped her. He turned her around to face him. Chuck pushed the sunglasses up her head like a headband and saw her eyes shining with tears and she looked up at him.

She shook her head. "I'm not ready to talk to you yet," she said truthfully. "I didn't even know you're back."

And because he had pled with her to give him time, he couldn't claim not to understand what she needed. "Can we meet tonight?"

Blair took a breath, and released it slowly. "Okay, Chuck."

And by now he recognized, the sad surrender in those words meant she was unconvinced, but would agree to it for him. That was her answer in the shower. "I brought you a gift," he said slowly.

Her lashes lowered. "That fixed a lot of things last year. I'm not sure if it will now."

He clasped her hand, then drew out a medal badge from his pocket. He placed it in her hand and closed her fingers around it. "If this doesn't make a difference, don't meet me," he said, giving her complete control over her choice. He wouldn't plead, because then she would come for him. If she came, it would be for them. "Tonight at eight, in the hotel bar."

It would be hell for him, but it would show her what he needed her to know. He leaned towards her and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek. Then, he walked away.

"What is it Miss Blair?" he heard Dorota ask in a hushed voice.

"I have no idea," Blair answered. "Let's ask Cyrus."

He smiled, and hoped Cyrus Rose knew what 15 days meant on an AA badge.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Part 7

The amber liquid swirled inside the glass.

He felt the stares, heard pieces of the soft whispers behind jeweled hands.

Chuck felt the hand that rested on his back, and he turned to see a young blonde sidling up to him. "Chuck Bass," she said throatily. "I don't know what happened these last three months I was in Germany, but you are looking better than ever."

His eyes flickered from the smooth angelic face, down to the short black sparkly number that stopped just a little past her hips, to the gold peep toe heels that held her up. "You're not looking so bad yourself," he returned, not bothering to search his brain for a name. He turned back to the bar.

Her hand moved to his arm and squeezed. Chuck turned his head and looked down at the manicured fingers that clutched at him. "I'm available."

There was no subtle hint. It was direct, matter-of-fact, and a memory flickered in his head of the positions this particular one was willing to try. He covered her hand with his and leaned close, and she pressed against his side. Her lips parted. "I'm waiting for someone," was his answer.

She rolled her eyes. "Like that ever stopped you before."

He turned back to the scotch and lifted the glass, looking at the swirls he made. His lips curved. "It's stopping me now."

When the blonde left—her name started with a K, he just remembered—he closed his eyes and lifted the glass, holding it at level of his lips, sniffing the familiar scent of his alcohol. Then, he placed the glass against his forehead and shut his eyes.

A few weeks ago this would have been gone with one bitter, delicious swallow. Slowly, he grabbed the cool surface of the glass down against his skin. Just a few inches and maybe he could run his tongue through the rim, taste a sweet explosion of memories.

For days after she had left Bangkok, he was left convulsing in his bed. Around him the room stank and he just knew his credit card would take the beating for the foul vomit in the carpet around the bed. He had twisted and screamed until the guards had come pounding on his door.

Chuck didn't remember much of that week after she left. But he did remember that moment when, in front of Nate, he folded. The decision had been the most rational, practical, logical one he had made, but he had done it for the most emotional of reasons.

"Grow up," Nate had said.

Chuck stalked out of her abandoned hotel suite and Nate had come running after him. Nate could say all kinds of shit to him, but underneath the prissy, pissed off little fights they had, Nate was still the boy who gave Chuck his first whiff of weed. That bond never broke.

And they had found themselves in Chuck's new suite. Chuck threw open the minibar door and started collecting the ridiculous little bottles and lined them up on the sink. "What are you doing?" Nate had asked, exasperation lacing his voice.

Chuck's answer had been simple. Even Nate understood. Chuck picked up one little bottle and threw it against the cement wall, sending the contents splattering and the glass shattering. It created a sluicing dark brown mark on the textured wall. "Growing the fuck up." And then one by one he destroyed the bottles in front of Nate's eyes. Chuck grabbed his own personal stock from his bag and unscrewed the cap.

Without hesitation, he poured the scotch down the drain, leaving the empty bottle clattering under the faucet.

The two of them stood silent as the last of the scotch dripped from the mouth of the bottle. And that was exactly when the sheer magnitude of his decision sank into him, and his hand started twitching. He quickly fisted both hands, but the nervous tremor climbed to his elbow, causing his entire right arm to shake uncontrollably. He had thrown Nate a look, and his best friend's gaze dropped to his hand.

In his eyes, it was a wordless plea.

Nate had sighed, then laid a firm arm around his shoulders. He had squeezed his eyes shut, because this, this nervous reaction was not even withdrawal. No, that would probably sink in about three or four hours. But it had already been hell.

"You can't do this alone, Chuck," Nate had muttered.

And that was when he knew, Nate was not going to fly back to New York—not then, not for the entire week that Chuck had shivered and sweated and twisted and cursed. No, Nate had dragged him back to the US the first day he could stand, had offered him Blair, and had listened to the repeated refusals.

Chuck drew the small bottle in his pocket and took one pill—he was down to one a day now. He almost reached for the scotch to down the pill, but swallowed it dry instead.

"What was that?"

Even until today, when he thought he was free, he still sank into the wretched scent and sound hallucinations that he had heard about in the program. He swore he smelled the perfume she had so eagerly bared her neck for a few months ago. And he could swear it was her voice that played in his head.

"Chuck Bass, what was that?"

This time, the demand was more insistent, louder, more impatient, and he recognized that no hallucination would be that real. He turned and saw Blair Waldorf, with her arms crossed in front of her chest, looking at him through narrowed eyes. He wanted to reach for her, because no matter how much she tried now, he would never, not once, doubt that she loved him.

He still remembered the pleading look in her face when she said it along the streets of Manhattan, the frantic sound of her voice as she said the words as he pushed inside her, the trembling of her lips when she said it under the shower spray in the bathroom of his Best City Inn room.

If only he could take photographs of memories, those three events would be plastered all over his walls.

And he turned around in his seat because this girl deserved more than a crane of his neck. "What was what?" he asked, offering her his hand. She placed her hand in his, but shook her head when he moved to help her to the bar stool. Instead she pulled him towards a booth.

He walked with her, and he noticed her throw a look back at the bar and the lonely glass he had left sitting there. She was too transparent, and he loved that could notice those little things now—because the small smile that quickly passed by her lips was too beautiful to have gone unnoticed.

In private, as they sat, Blair extended her hand. Chuck looked down at it, then slipped his hand into his pocket. He placed the small jar in her hand, and waited for her to inspect it. She licked her lips, then gave it back to him. "So it's true," she said quietly, watching him put the valium back inside his pocket.

He searched for something to say, but it seemed like it was the dratted alcohol that gave him the best lines. So he said instead, "Yeah."

She leaned back in her seat, silent for a long time. Then she admitted, "I'm actually waiting for you to say that you're not doing it for me, and I shouldn't get my hopes up."

Had he really been that hurtful?

"I wasn't," he said. She nodded. "I was doing it for me."

"That's good."

He moistened his lips. They always seemed too dry now, like the only thing that could make them feel better, like they were not going to crack, was if he could just taste a little, one last time. She placed the badge on the table, then pushed it towards him. "Here. You earned this. Congratulations, Chuck. You don't know—" her voice caught in her throat. "You don't know what it means to me to know you're doing this."

"I know."

Of course he knew.

"I'm doing this so I can be better," he told her. "So when it happens, you know it's me talking because I feel it, not because I'm sad, not because I'm angry, or lonely, or horny." And he knew she knew. She had to know what he was talking about. He was making no effort to hide it. It was in his eyes, in the way he fingers played with hers, in the fact that he was sacrificing the one comfort he grew up with. He was in the hotel bar, surrounding by bottles of aged whiskey and fruity champagne.

And he was stone cold sober.

So he could say them so clearly she wasn't going to have to ask him to repeat it. So he could repeat it over and over and over and over.

Like she did.

"And what if you get depressed again?" she asked softly. "Or afraid? Or when it gets so hard?"

Her eyes were liquid, with real fear. And he wondered why she was so afraid when this single act was the greatest gesture he could give her to reassure her that he was going to stay.

"What is it?" he asked in concern. He pushed his AA badge into her hand and closed her fingers over it, because it was hers.

She dropped the badge on the table, then turned her hand palm up so she could intertwine her fingers with his. Blair met his eyes, and said, "I love you."

And this time was unexpected, but so clear in his head, for the first time, because he was hearing it without the haze of alcohol clouding his senses. The words were so simple and short and common and… He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed them.

"And I won't ever stop. So I have to keep something from you."

"Tell me," he urged her.

"No." She placed her other hand on his cheek, smiled sadly, then sighed. "You're doing so well, Chuck. Whatever it is you're doing, you have to continue doing it. It's working."

"Tell me," he asked again.

"I can't." She blinked away the tears, then gave him a fat smile.

She pulled herself out of the booth, then checked her watch. And in that pretense she could not even put the action in a sequence of events that made sense. Watch first, then stand up. Chuck had been pretending so long it was natural. She was only just beginning to. "Blair, tell me."

And now he was standing so close to her, he could see each rise and fall of her chest. "I love you." But he heard more than the words when he looked into her eyes. I love you, and I'm not dragging you down with me.

He cupped her cheek, and she still pressed her face into his hand so instinctively that his heart warmed. He bent and closed his lips over hers. It was the first kiss he ever had when the very sensation of the other mouth brought tears to his eyes. So this was how she tasted, when there wasn't scotch in his system. God, her lips alone could keep him satisfied his entire life. "I want to know. I want you to trust me so much you would tell me what it is."

And she must have felt the same because her hands rose and she wrapped her arms around his waist, then laid her cheek against his chest. In the hotel bar. Where everyone knew Chuck Bass. Where many of him had probably seen him getting a handjob under the table. But no one, not one of them, had seen this. His hand rested on the small of her back.

"I'm so embarrassed."

She wasn't talking about this, about the people who could see them. He doubted she even noticed. He reached down, then tipped her face so she would meet his eyes. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Look who you're talking to." And that brought a smile to her lips. "The worst thing you've ever done, the darkest thought you've ever had, I'll stand by you through everything."

When she recognized the words, and heard them coming from him, she swallowed, then pulled his lips down for another kiss.

He looked down at her after, and opened his mouth for the declaration that necessarily followed, but she placed a finger on his lips, hushing him. Blair shook her head. He pushed the hair back from her cheek to behind her ear. "Why not?" he rasped. This was the moment he said it. He just knew, he should say it.

"Not until you find out what it is." She bit her lip, and now her eyes flickered with the uncertainty that he had last seen last year, when the biggest problem in her life had been that Serena had returned and was threatening her status. "Will you come with me tomorrow, to the hospital?"

Fingers of cold dread spread through his chest. But still, he said, "I'll come with you." She nodded, and closed her eyes. She drew a deep, calming breath. "And I'm not waiting until then to tell you, because it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change a thing."

"Chuck," she protested, but held her breath.

"I'm in love with you." Three words, eight letters. That wasn't nearly enough. "I love you. I'm so in love with you. I'm crazy in love." He pressed a kiss on both of her eyelids. "Open your eyes, Blair," he asked. And when she did, he looked down into the deep pools of brown. "So in love it's not even funny."

And still, his confession was marred by the fear in her eyes.

"It's not gonna change," he assured her.

She nodded, but the tears told him it wasn't enough. It had to be tomorrow. Whatever it was, whatever she was ashamed of, whatever she didn't want him to know because it might threaten his own recovery. "I'll love you, no matter what," she whispered. And that promise gutted him, because of everything it did not say, and everything it did. No matter what he did, even if he changed, even if tomorrow, he wasn't who he was tonight. She'll love him.

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

Part 8

Chuck Bass did not know why it was that he felt that huge pang of disappointment when he heard the hushed conversation between Eleanor and Dorota. It was not as if Eleanor Waldorf had ever been a big fan of his. She had invested so heavily in Nate from the first time she saw Blair and Nate walk hand in hand at age seven.

But he was, and he almost kicked himself for it.

The elevator door opened, and by some stroke of luck, Eleanor and Dorota seemed too engrossed in their discussion that they did not notice his arrival.

"Go on," Eleanor urged. "Change out of your uniform so you're ready."

"But Mrs Eleanor," Dorota protested. "I not going with Miss Blair. Miss Blair said Mr Chuck is taking her." And the maid's eyes had widened. "You want me to chaperone?" The maid shook her head emphatically.

"Chaperone?" Eleanor parroted with a chuckle. "That's ridiculous. They're old enough to fool around. They're obviously old enough to not need a chaperone."

Dorota blinked in confusion. "So why I get ready, Mrs Eleanor?"

Eleanor tapped at her expensive diamond-encrusted watch face. "It's a half an hour past ten, and Charles isn't here. We need a smooth backup plan. He's not here, you two go. No fuss, no long waiting." Eleanor snapped her fingers. "Like that."

Chuck cleared his throat, and the two older women whirled around in surprise. But he had to give it to Eleanor. She covered shock well. Must be practice from discovering your husband loved men.

"Charles!" Eleanor exclaimed. "Have you been standing there long?"

He gave her a lopsided smirk. "Long enough."

If there was one thing high society women were uncomfortable with, it was getting caught. "I'm sorry," she sputtered.

"Perfectly alright, Mrs Rose."

Her lips curved, hearing her new last name from the boy. Chuck always did get what made them happy, what caused their toes to curl up.

"Shame on you, boy!" Cyrus crowed. Chuck turned and saw the little man waving him forward, and so he walked towards Blair's stepfather. "Charming my wife shamelessly when I'm in the room."

"I didn't see you there."

And Cyrus laughed, heartily, and Chuck wondered if it was because he immediately took it for a jab at his height. "Let's get you in the dining room." Chuck turned to look towards the stairs, in the direction of Blair's room. "She's coming along. We're all going to have some brunch."

"I was thinking of just grabbing something in the hospital—maybe from the vending machine."

"Charles, in this house, we sit down to eat," Cyrus pronounced, and Eleanor nodded in agreement, as if that had been happening in her house for the longest time.

And then she was running down the stairs, her hair bouncing behind her, her feet clad in leather flats. "You're early!" she said in surprise.

She should really tell her mother that, he thought. Because Eleanor was already sending Dorota off to prepare when he got in, as if he wasn't going to arrive. "Apparently," he drawled, "not too early because in this house, we all sit down to eat."

She turned to her mother in shock, and then at her stepfather. Chuck noticed the small shrug that Cyrus gave. And she turned a big smile at him, a little forced. "We do," she said. Blair walked in front of him on the way to the dining room.

They arrived at the hospital a little early for her appointment, and it was only because Chuck doubted that Blair ever figured in her schedule that taking the limo always cut the travel time in half. Chuck did not blink when she led him to her doctor's office, and the name on the door caught his attention. It had not been the name as much as the specialization underneath, but he promised himself it wasn't his place to ask. After she spoke with the doctor's receptionist, she sank into the couch beside him. He laid his arm on the back of the couch behind her, and she squirmed forward and sat on the edge of the seat, her back held stiff.

"How many more minutes?"

"I'm sorry it's taking so long."

"I'm just asking," he returned in a quiet voice.

She turned her face to him and replied, "Maybe fifteen. Most likely fifteen," she amended. "You know how precisely they time."

"Yeah." She turned her face away and stared instead at the large analog clock above the receptionist's head. He knew why she would not look at him, so he offered, "The one I got for when I was in withdrawal was very anal about the time." At the admission, she glanced behind her at his relaxed slouch on the couch. "But they say it helps us, when they stick to the precise minute. It gives us something concrete to rely on." Especially when the things and the people you most counted on failed you. His eyes fell to her fists, as she clumped her skirt over and over. "Let's play a game," he said.

The surprise in her eyes was soft, charming. "Now?" she asked in disbelief.

"To kill time," he said. To take your mind off this. To keep me from shaking you until you tell me what the hell is going on. He was sober, but he wasn't a saint. His knee bopped up and down as his foot tapped the floor with impatience. Clinics like these reminded him of the days when he would tremble with need and with thirst that he thought Nate was the enemy for not letting him have a single sip. Even the odor of the hospital wakened dormant memories of the night of the Snowflake Ball, when he was so happy he started considering, during that last dance, that maybe he and she could work, if they could always be the way they were—trying to one up each other in a harmless game where no one lost, but he got to rub the Blair's nose on the fact that she would find no one as right as he for her and vice versa. The night ended with an impromptu trip to the hospital, and a quick trip to the morgue.

Of course Lily couldn't do it. She had been too emotionally distraught to do that one last thing for Bart.

The son had to do it.

If he and Blair had a son someday, he would make sure that it would be written in black and white that the boy would never be asked to walk into a cold room to identify his corpse.

That was something a boy didn't walk away from unscathed. And something he would not forgive Lily for. No matter how much Nate would say he had grown.

His eyes rested on Blair, on the eyes that said so much that every time she looked at him, he thought he heard her whisper those fantastic words, and his heart skipped a little. Chuck could imagine her in her dark, heavy clothes, with a black headband and a pair of black tights, probably wearing black pumps and carrying a black handbag—because everyone knows that ever in mourning Blair Waldorf would match her outfit—shivering insider the morgue, waiting as the ME pulled the sliding rack out of the body refrigerator.

The way she loved him, she would be dead before they pulled down the blanket.

He knew because it would be the same if it were him. He would rot in a grave without a name before he allowed her to experience that. He had to remember to get with a lawyer right after this and check if a man could take an injunction preventing the police or the hospital from calling his family in a time like that.

"Let's count how many people would pass by," he said, nodding towards the glass walls where they could see the patients and their visitors walk by, "with something fake."

She smiled, nodded, as if she were going to participate. Every three people who passed, he identified two. "That Louis Vuitton clutch," he said of one, and, "Those earrings are moizanite," of another. He identified jackets and shoes as if he were fashion police, in an effort to entertain her. But she was silent, with a small smile on her face. When he glanced at her, she smiled.

Chuck almost surrendered when he saw her eyes twinkle. "You missed one." She nodded towards the man who was passing by. Chuck narrowed his eyes. "Nothing fake on him. Even the Rolex looked genuine."

Blair smirked. "His hair isn't."

There was his girl. Rise and shine. Finally, she leaned back against him. Chuck tightened his arm around her shoulders. The position was so natural and comfortable that it was right at that moment that the nerves slowly sank in. A lot of people marveled at women's intuition, and Chuck finally recognized the awe as he felt her body start to draw away the moment he grew jittery.

What the hell was he doing pretending he was stable, like whatever he would discover behind those doors he could handle? He was Chuck Bass. He would either implode or close in on himself.

The receptionist looked towards them and said, "Miss Waldorf. Dr Silverman is ready for you."

Blair turned to him, with fear, with uncertainty, with resignation. The choice was his. He could walk away now, and preserve the tenuous control he had over his own problems, or he could stay and possibly shatter with what he would learn.

But this was about Blair.

Everyone knew he would shatter into a trillion pieces, and shatter with a contented smile, if it was about Blair.

He reached for her hand on the way in, and he closed it around hers when she started to pull away. She had offered his hand to him once in Bangkok, in that elevator, and he refused to give it to her. But he was stronger and he could hold on to her if he thought she needed it. "Not in the movies, but here… this is fine, Blair."

And she clung on that grasp until the doctor stood up and faced them. Blair shook her hand free and he allowed his to fall at his side.

The shrink was young, he granted her that. Young and pretty, and she wore a skirt that was a couple of inches higher than what other doctors wore. If only for that, Chuck warmed up to her. He settled on the leather couch and waited for Blair to sit with him. She did, but kept a distance of at least one human body between them.

Dr Silverman turned to Chuck, "Thank you for coming. I'm glad you're here." She turned to Blair. "You were very brave to ask."

"He insisted," Blair said. Chuck wanted to reach out and drag her back to him, but she seemed sealed off in her own little world. "He wants to know, then he'll know."

Persistence paid off. Whoever said it didn't was a fool.

Or he wasn't a Bass and couldn't afford to wait.

"That's good, Blair," the shrink said in a calm, patient voice.

He saw the impatience war with control on Blair's face and did not blame her. He would be irritated too.

"Not that," she said hurriedly. "Not yet." She threw a glance at him, and probably did not expect him to be watching her. Blair faced the psychiatrist at once. "He's here to listen, not to participate."

If that was what she wanted. He made it in, and it should be sufficient enough progress for today. If he stayed quiet, then maybe there would be a hint, or several, and he could connect them together to make a bigger picture full of holes.

Dr Silverman nodded, then took out her notebook. She pressed a button on the device she had laid on the coffee table, and they were recording. "How are you doing today?"

"Better than yesterday," Blair answered. "Every day is better than the day before."

He was a poster child for that. He used those very words the last session he had. It was a popular statement in group discussions too. But she wasn't addicted to anything. Pain, maybe. Him. But the last he heard, there wasn't a program yet that could get rid of him.

"How many meals have you had since we met yesterday morning?"

And it dawned on him with a sickening realization. She had kicked this. They had a small celebration when she had kicked this four months after her father left. There had been one instance of binging and purging in Thanksgiving but that had been it, and he returned from Monaco and pretended she did not fall off the wagon by saying that the event had been one last romp in the sack with an ex.

He knew more than anyone why it came back.

And she was embarrassed? He should be raked over hot coals.

"Lunch," Blair stated. "Then a snack. Dinner," she took a deep breath, as if enumerating just stressed how much she had had. "Brunch before we came."

"Sounds good." The shrink drew a line on the notebook. Chuck wondered what it was for. "And how many times did you throw up?"

The question hung in the air between Dr Silverman and Blair. Chuck swore he saw a tangible question mark bobbing above the coffeetable. He couldn't be having hallucinations again. That was over by the first week of his sobriety. He blinked and the question mark was gone. He ran his fingers through his hair. God, he needed a valium. Or a tall glass of vodka.

"Two o'clock." Right after their encounter in the lobby of her building. "And six o'clock." Before they met at the hotel bar.

She had mentioned it last night, but this was the first time it truly sank in him why it was that she did not want to bring him here. He was an observer, but he wasn't. He was the one who moved up closer to where she sat, pressed his lips on the back of her shoulder like he did when she turned seventeen and was so sad.

"Chuck?" Dr Silverman prompted. "Is there anything you want to say?"

Blair reached at the side table for a tissue. "He doesn't have to say anything. He's not the one who got forced into therapy."

"Blair, this is nothing to be embarrassed about," he said, his voice hoarse, which was odd because he had not been screaming—not out loud.

"The reason I asked you to bring him wasn't to tell him what's going on, Blair. That's between you and me."

Blair pulled out a few more tissues, and then blew her nose. "And I told you, he wasn't available."

"Well, now he's here," Dr Silverman said. Chuck marveled at the patience. "This part is for you. I want you to tell him, because I think it would take a load off your shoulders."

Blair turned cold eyes at the shrink. "You can't treat me by knocking him down. He's a recovering alcoholic."

Chuck frowned. "I can take it." He hoped to God he could. There couldn't be any certainty to it, but he needed to know. Now.

"I think the very fact that Chuck is here tells us that he's willing to hear what you have to say."

Slowly, Blair turned her gaze to him, and he could see the struggle. He took her hand in his and squeezed. "Tell me," he said, just like he had urged her last night.

"You've practiced this. Now he's here."

"Go ahead," he said softly.

Blair turned her body to him, so that now they were facing each other on the couch. "You already know I love you," she began. Chuck did not speak, just waited. These things took time. "But I hate you too. Just a little," she confessed. "And after this you're going to hate me, but I need to say it." He held his breath as she formed her words, the effort to do so etched on her face. "I love you, but I couldn't take it anymore. And I know I promised you that I'd stay, but I couldn't live like that."

The insults, he wondered, or the constant parade of women? Maybe it was the fact that he kept telling her to leave or that he didn't love her? He would leave him too. She had said nothing, done nothing that would make him hate her the way she was afraid he would.

"I thought I was pregnant," she said. He closed his eyes. Second time in their lives that she had that scare, and both times he not been the person she could come to. Next time—because had there ever been any doubt that there would be another time in their life together that she would ask the same question—he was going to be the first person she went to. "I was."

The pause was deafening. "Blair?" prodded Dr Silverman.

"And I loved you." Her tears fell unrestrained. "And I hated you."

Slowly, his hand around hers drew back and fisted on his thigh. Despite his resolve to listen, he heard himself choke out, "What did you do?"

"The last time I saw you, you were half-dead and it was just a matter of time before you OD'd or got alcohol poisoning, or jumped off a building," she sobbed.

"What did you do, Blair?" he repeated.

"I came to my family doctor and asked for reading materials about abortion," she told him.

His fist rose to rest against his gritted teeth. His fingernails dug into his palm. He needed a fucking drink in a fucking bar.

"And I came home and I read them and I read them and I read them until I memorized each one of them," she said tearfully. "I hated you so much for Bangkok, Chuck." He met her eyes, and this time he didn't bother to hide the tears that clouded his own vision.

He needed to drown this out. Dammit, what he wouldn't give for oblivion right about now.

"But I loved you too, and there was no way I was going to terminate when you just lost your dad." She drew a deep breath, not calming, not to soothe herself. She sucked in the breath for survival. "I woke up and it happened all at once—the cramping, the blood, that pain. It was six hours before it all stopped. Six hours," she said, her voice with wonder, "just to expel tissue." She shook her head. "You see, Chuck? 'I love you' is great, but it doesn't fix me like it wasn't enough to fix you."

He was eighteen years old. He shouldn't be able to say that abortion or miscarriage was part of his past.

"It doesn't."

Did he want it to? She was right. By the end of this session, he hated her. She had wanted to abort his kid. He was in Bangkok going through hell to quit drinking, for her. And she was here window shopping for an abortion. She wasn't the same girl he saw last night, the one he loved blindly, without reservations.

Slowly, he rose from his seat and walked out the door. Behind him, she heard him call his name once. When he did not stop, she did not call again.

Outside the hospital doors, he waited until she stepped out. He raised his hand, and caught her shock at the sight of him there. She tightened her coat around herself and walked over to him. When she drew near, he settled his hands on her waist.

"You were right. Now I hate you too," he said, his tone gravelly, his voice tired. She nodded, then hung her head. He caught her chin with his finger and tipped her face up. "But I'll love you, no matter what," he whispered, returning her promise to him.

The black limo rolled and stopped by them. He held the door open for her and then climbed in after her. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

He took her in his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. Chuck hissed his breath in exhale, then held up and violently shaking hand. She laid her palm against his, then clasped their fingers. Closed together like that, it was not hard to keep it steady. "I need you today," he said. "I need you to make sure I don't drink." It was only twelve. This was going to be a long day.

tbc


End file.
